The Tilt of Tragedy
by Chrmdpoet
Summary: Emma storms out after another senseless argument with Regina and ends up in an horrible accident. Regina is one of the last to find out and is perhaps the only one who can save Emma's life. Rated M for descriptive visuals/mentions of blood and gruesome injury.


**A/N: Another prompt writing that ended up being much longer than a short drabble. The prompt was as follows: "Emma being in an accident after an argument - Regina wait for news. Up to you if she's okay." There is not so much of a "waiting" aspect, but I was quite satisfied with how this turned out, so I hope you all enjoy. Also, this is not meant to be a fleshed-out, in-depth experience. It is meant to be a very fast-paced, stream-of-conscious one-shot, in which a shift in perspective is observed over flashes of moments. XO-Chrmdpoet**

**Trigger Warning: Mentions/descriptive visuals of blood and gruesome injury**

The Tilt of Tragedy

Regina was positively seething. Her heart pounded heavily in chest, clenching with every beat. Her lungs burned from the hard, deep breaths she sucked in through her nose and let out harshly as she paced the length of her study. Her hands were aching fists, whitened with strain. Her eyes were alight with her fury, and her jaw was clenched so tightly that she was practically grinding her teeth.

No one, absolutely NO one, had ever been able to crawl under her skin the way that Emma Swan could and frequently did. The woman was like a disease for which there was no cure. Regina was completely and utterly riddled with her—every cell devoured by this strange and delicate balance between fury and elation, between tolerance and affection. Regina could never determine which was more prominent. She knew she had come to care about the Savior, more-so perhaps than she should or would admit aloud, but she also found her positively infuriating, sometimes on a scale so grand it could be considered cosmic.

Must run in the family.

It honestly didn't take much. That was the nature of their strange friendship, Regina knew. One moment, they were most pleasant with one another—bantering playfully or even openly supporting one another. In the next moment, they were practically spitting fireballs at one another over something as simple as whether or not Henry should be allowed to play Mature-rated video games.

They had had yet another of their increasingly famous rows, both of them going from smiles to snarls in five seconds flat, and for what? Regina could scarcely even remember now that the woman had gone, but small bursts of those heated moments flashed through her memory and fed her fury enough to keep her angry for hours. Typical.

_God, Regina, it's just a damn sleepover. If he wants to go, we should let him. It's good that he has some friends._

_It's not _just _a sleepover, Miss Swan. It's a sleepover with several of those delinquent children you insisted we tote home with us from Neverland. Those boys are bad news. They could be a terrible influence on Henry._

_So, what? You think those kids can't change? That's rich coming from you, Regina. You want everyone to recognize that you're changing, and you are, I'm not saying you're not, but you have to give other people the same benefit._

_What could possibly know about any of this? You don't have to beg for scraps of forgiveness and trust. You and your precious mother can do whatever you wish, any awful deeds that arise, any manner of evil, and be forgiven without a second thought. Please, spare me your speeches when you have the privilege._

_That's not even the point, Regina. You're just looking for a fight. _

_Oh, you push _my _buttons, and _I'm _the one looking for a fight?!_

It had only escalated from there, and eventually Regina had told Emma to get out. She couldn't handle it anymore. She had been on the verge of tears, though whether those tears were inspired by her anger or by some deep hurt she couldn't quite place, she was unsure. Perhaps it was both. Regardless, Regina abhorred weakness, and Emma Swan had seen enough of it from her throughout the short time they had known one another. She refused to show weakness at the other woman's hands.

She refused to cave. She refused to choke down her pride. Her pride kept her safe. It kept everyone else at a distance, and so what if it resulted in that bone-deep loneliness that Regina also loathed. At least she was accustomed to the loneliness. The weakness, though…well, she had conquered that so many years ago that she had forgotten how terribly heavy it felt on the flesh and on the heart. She couldn't take the weight.

She couldn't handle the urge to crumble, that needling ache to be comforted. It was simply beneath her, or so she told herself.

Yet, when Emma had whirled around and stomped from the study, Regina had felt parts of her go cold, parts she wasn't ready to contemplate or acknowledge. When Emma had slammed closed the mansion's door, and when Regina had heard the squealing echo of the Bug's tires peeling out as the blonde pulled away, Regina could only barely manage her denial enough to keep her fury.

The denial that perhaps she had crossed a line. Perhaps they both had. She and Emma were in the business of saying things they didn't mean, saying things that should never be said. They were in the business of hurting one another. Yet, somehow, they also supported one another. They also cared for one another. They also trusted one another. They also lo…no.

Regina wouldn't let herself go there. Not on any level.

She reminded herself of her anger, just so that she could keep it, keep it as long as possible. Because once the anger passed, once she let it go, all there would be was regret and that fucking loneliness that knew her body like a lover should.

The ringing of her cell phone spilled through her buzzing thoughts on the second ring, and Regina had to take a deep breath before answering—schooling her features so that her voice would follow. When she glanced down at the caller ID, though, she didn't bother.

"What?" she snapped into the phone, having absolutely no patience to deal with Snow fucking White. The woman's mere existence pissed her off on most days, but this night, it was her connection to Emma that made Regina want to give the woman a piece of her mind as well.

But then, "Regina…"

It was shaky. It didn't sound right. That voice. It wasn't the chipper voice of Snow goody-two-shoes White. No, that wasn't the bubbly, soft voice of Mary Margaret Blanchard. It wasn't a voice at all.

It was fear. It was…terror.

"Snow," Regina said, and the name sounded terribly choked as it escaped her, the mere tremble in Snow's voice having caused a tightness to clutch at Regina's chest. Sometimes, all it took was a sound, a single word, one look, and your entire world could turn, could flip, could completely shatter. This was one of those moments, one of those sounds, one of those words.

Snow's breath was wet as it whispered into the phone, and it made Regina shudder. Oh gods, she thought. What the hell was she about to hear?

And then, "Help."

That was it. That one word. That was all that Snow could manage, and that was how Regina knew that it was Emma. If one tiny bit of knowledge could rivet through a soul for years, then that was it for Regina. The knowledge that whatever this fear was, whatever had caused it, involved Emma, was enough to shake her to her very core.

"I'm coming."

Regina didn't fucking know where she was supposed to be going, but that didn't matter. She could figure it out. That's what magic was for. In that moment, she didn't have the resolve to ask questions, didn't have the steadiness of voice, and she knew Snow didn't either. So, she clicked to end the call and then called upon her magic to guide her to where she needed to go.

* * *

When Regina appeared in a swirl of purple smoke on the side of the road in the middle of town, she felt relieved, because she had been expected to track Snow to the hospital, somewhere daunting. That relief last only about half a second, though, before Regina actually took in the scene before her, and everything, _everything _just crumbled around her.

Smoke spilled into the air from a flaming, balled hunk of yellow metal, flipped on its side and quite literally wrapped around a telephone pole. The flashing lights of Storybrooke's only ambulance were jarring against the darkening sky, the color like blood that would stain Regina's eyes for years to come. The sounds of gasps and cries, of shouts and sirens…it all assaulted Regina for only a moment before her gaze zeroed in on the familiar figure of Snow White, hovering behind two paramedics who were kneeling on the ground around a figure that Regina was certain she knew. That was when the sounds faded entirely, muted against the pulse now hammering loudly, painfully in Regina's ears.

"Regina!"

Hands were suddenly gripping around her shoulders, and Charming's face swam in front of her eyes. How had he gotten to her so quickly? Where had he come from? She hadn't even seen anyone move.

Regina shook her head, clearing away the haze, and that's when she realized that she was now somehow standing only a few feet away from Snow, from those paramedics, from…from…

She couldn't even remember moving. She couldn't think of anything other than that fucking throbbing in her ears, that tightness in her chest, that burning in her throat, those hands gripping her shoulders like she was the very essence of life.

"You have to help her," Charming shouted, and Regina's eyes shot up to lock onto his then. Tears streaked his cheeks, making clear paths through smoke-blackened puffs on his face from being in the midst of the wreckage. Regina's gaze tracked down, and her heart stilled in chest as she saw that his shirt was splattered with crimson, his hands dirty and bloody even as they gripped her.

Had he been a part of this tragedy? Or had he been the one to pull…_Emma_, Regina made herself acknowledge it, out of the car?

"What…what…how?" Regina finally forced herself to put words to voice, but even that failed her—that simple task she had completely more times than she could count—speaking. She couldn't even do that properly, not now, not when the only person outside of her son whom she had truly cared about in decades was lying on the ground only a few feet away from her. Not when she had done this, caused this somehow.

Had she never pushed Emma, had she never told her to leave, had she not worked the blonde into a frenzy, then maybe…maybe…and then this wouldn't…and they could…

Oh gods.

"Regina, please." It was Snow's voice then, trembling as it had on the phone, but now it was as if there were earthquakes sounding between the woman's teeth, earthquakes that shook Regina's heart right out of her chest. It fell swiftly to the ground, followed by Regina's knees as she found herself pushed to the place where Emma lay.

The paramedics parted, and a strangled whimper escaped Regina before she could stop it. This wasn't Emma. This was a bloody, mangled mess of the woman that Regina cared so much about. This wasn't right.

Regina's entire body quaked with her shock and her fear, steadily mounting with each passing second, as she looked over Emma's body, trembling with shock.

She couldn't linger, couldn't stomach the sight of the bloodied stubs where long, muscled legs had only just been less than an hour before. She couldn't handle the deep gashes, spilling forward parts that were never meant to meet the air, parts that were supposed to remain inside. She couldn't handle the blood, the blood, the blood. There was so much blood.

And Emma, somehow, was still conscious, still alive. When Regina's gaze met green, bloodshot and terrified, the former queen's heart leapt into her throat and stuck there so forcefully that she audibly choked. Tears ripped from her eyes within seconds, as Emma's fingers waggled at her, one shaking arm reaching toward her. Regina went to it like a moth to a flame, her hand slipping into Emma's and gripping so tightly she was sure she might break those fragile bones.

"Re—re…g—" Emma tried. She tried, her eyes bulging and her words gurgling in her throat, and Regina quickly shook her head, shushing the mangled blonde.

"Don't," she choked out. "Don't try to talk."

Emma, as always, didn't listen. "S—so…rry."

Regina never thought she could cry so hard, never thought she had it in her to release an ocean of soul and sadness, not since she had darkened her heart. But it came in waves, crashing violent waves that devoured her face and leaked into the asphalt below as she gripped Emma's hands. And then she found herself leaning forward, moving without thought, following her impulse, because it was the only fucking thing in the world that made sense in that moment.

Her forehead pressed against the side of Emma's, where a large gash began and then ran down the blonde's face. Regina paid no mind to the blood that was steadily transferring to her own skin as she moved her lips as close to Emma's ear as possible and cried as she whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Emma."

Emma's grip tightened around her hand, and Regina returned the squeeze.

And that's when they heard it—the loud, echoing, haunting cry. Regina didn't even have to turn to know it was their son. Henry had arrived, somehow drawn to the center of town, to the one thing he should never have to see or experience.

Emma instantly began to shake her head as her breaths became more and more labored, gurgling loudly and horrifically in her chest. She didn't want Henry to see her this way, not like this, not when she was broken, dying…weak. Regina understand.

"Hold him back!" she shouted over her shoulder, knowing someone, Charming perhaps, would understand and do as she commanded. He did.

"Can you fix this?" Regina heard the question. It trembled, those fucking earthquakes. And then Snow's hands on her back, Snow's breath on the back of her neck. "Please, Regina. Please don't let her die. Please."

"How?" Regina cried out. "How can I fix this?" Her hands were shaking so horribly that Emma's arm was waving with the motion. Regina couldn't recall ever having been so afraid, even when Henry had been lost in Neverland. At least then, there had been hope. But here, in this moment, Regina just felt so terribly hopeless.

"Heal her," someone shouted from the crowd behind. It was Henry.

Snow nodded, her chin moving up and down against Regina's shoulder where the pixie-haired woman was practically wrapped around her, squeezing her like a lifeline. "Please," she whispered over and over again. "Please."

"I don't…" Those earthquakes now danced between Regina's own teeth, making her entire body tremble and tremble and tremble, until she feared she might just splinter entirely apart—become nothing more than dust on the ground beside Emma's dying body and fading light. "I can't fix her legs. I can't…Emma, I can't."

Regina had never felt so terribly askew in all her life. She could hardly string words together, hardly make her body and her voice act as they should, as they had her entire life. This, this completely and utterly affected her, down to her bones. It swam in her marrow—that haunted, pleading look in Emma's eyes, that trembling heat from Snow's embrace.

Still, Regina forced her courage forward. She forced her heart to slow, to calm. She sucked in sharp, aching, stinging breaths and she called forth every bit of strength she could muster. She had to cup a hand around Emma's cheek to comfort her enough to convince the blonde to let go of her hand, and when she did, Regina began her work.

She called forth her magic, closing her eyes, and letting the magic read Emma's body—read its wounds, read its remedies. She began with Emma's lungs, her magic suturing the places where they had been punctured, inflating them once more, and within minutes, Emma's breath came free, came easy, and Regina felt as if the world had righted itself at least an inch.

"Regina…" Emma rasped, and Regina's entire body jolted with the feeling of hearing her name on Emma's tongue—clear, clear, perfect. Regina's widened, terrified eyes locked onto green, and Emma managed a small bloody smile. "I…"

"Don't," Regina snapped, shaking her head, part of her knowing the words that were dancing on the blonde's tongue in that moment that felt so much like a goodbye Regina refused to accept. "Save it for later, Miss Swan." She bit out the words, using the title as a way to bolster her anger, letting it further fuel her magic. That raspy laugh that followed, though, only melted her.

Inch by inch, Regina combed over Emma's body with her magic, until her energy had drained to the point of her nearly losing consciousness. Regina slumped heavily back, surprised at being caught and cradled by her former stepdaughter. She couldn't even bring herself to care, just thankful for the warmth and the comfort that she would later deny she enjoyed.

Snow held her tightly, and let out a loud sob of thanks as Emma began to stir, breathing easily and no longer bleeding though still marred by the steadily drying crimson that still remained on her clothing and flesh. Her legs were gone, though. It was something Regina couldn't fix, and the brunette knew that it would haunt her forever. She knew it would haunt Emma as well, but at least…

At least she was alive. Emma's hand found its way to Regina again, both women's fingers trembling as they laced together of their own accord. Tears streaked their cheeks and soft whimpers whispered in their throats, but this, they had survived. Even if the world had shifted, even if the path had crumbled beneath their feet, even if nothing would ever be the same, they had survived.

* * *

Regina stayed with Emma every step of the way—through every doctor's appointment, every x-ray, every therapy session (though she waited outside for most of those). She stayed with her, and not because she felt guilty, though the brunette knew she always would, a part of her soul forever darkened by that single experience so many months prior. No, Regina stayed with her because the accident had shaken them to their cores, had opened their eyes to the concept of time and how quickly it runs out.

Because the world had fucking tilted, and now everything that had once been so utterly complex, seemed so simple, so easy to see, so easy to accept.

She needed Emma. They needed each other. Henry needed them both. It was as simple as that, as comforting as that, as terrifying as that.

Regina had moved Emma into the mansion not long after the accident. She had paid for dozens of installments for her home, wheelchair ramps, handlebars for the toilet, and a more accessible shower for Emma. She had had her home altered in every possible way just to make things easier, better for Emma now that the woman was a double amputee confined to a wheelchair. She had even moved her bedroom downstairs just to be closer to Emma, whose room was just off from the living room.

They spent nearly every day together. They fought, of course, but nothing like before. They mostly just supported one another. They mostly just cared. They mostly just gave in to all the things they used to keep so hauntingly bottled.

Regina often sat with Emma through nightmares, through emotional breakdowns, through tantrums. She soothed her as best she could, and they both did their best to help Henry through the trauma of all that had happened as well.

It was a trying recovery, one that saw a kaleidoscope of human emotion, but they survived it, just as they had the accident, and Regina stayed with Emma every step of the way.

And when Emma wheeled into Regina's room in the middle of the night almost a year later and slipped her hand into Regina's, Regina woke easily, squeezing Emma's hand before she had even opened her eyes.

"Are you okay?" she whispered softly through the dark of the room. She could just barely make out those deep forest eyes in the shadows, Emma's body bent forward in her chair so that she could get closer to Regina.

"No," Emma whispered back, and that had Regina sitting up in a flash.

"What's wrong?" the brunette asked. "What do you need?"

"I need you," Emma told her simply, though her voice was thick with tears that hadn't been shed, with need that had been silenced for years.

"Okay," Regina answered softly. "What do you need me to do?"

Emma squeezed her hand, a soft whimper escaping her as she felt Regina's other hand settle gently on the stub of her right thigh. Regina never shied away from Emma's partial limbs. She touched them as if they were still whole, and it rocked Emma's very soul. With Regina, she somehow never felt damaged. She still felt beautiful. Regina still made her feel beautiful.

"I need you to kiss me," Emma whispered so softly that the words were hardly more than breath.

The softest gasp escaped Regina's lips, a gasp that shook the world as much as any car accident could. That gasp was a revelation.

As was the weight of Regina's body straddling Emma's, knees pressing against the sides of Emma's wheelchair. As were the hands that wove their way into golden locks. As was the heated breath slipping across Emma's lips, the fingers gripping Regina's hips, the hum of two heartbeats that changed two lives.

That loved. That loved. That loved them past their pain.


End file.
